call it the season of giving (i'm here, yours for the taking)
by bluestoplights
Summary: Emma isn't a fan of Christmas. Mary Margaret's meddling isn't helping matters, especially if she keeps on trying to set Emma up every year.


**A/N: Have a cheesy Christmas oneshot. Yeah, the title is from a Michael Buble song. It's Christmas, who the hell do you think I am? I wish the best of holidays and the best looking neighbors to you all. This isn't beta'd, so any mistakes are 100% my own!**

-/-

Christmas is Emma's least favorite season.

Maybe it's the emphasis on family (that she doesn't have), religion (that she doesn't have), and love (that - _guess what_ \- she doesn't have). Christmas music makes her violently angry, she 'accidentally' knocked down the mistletoe at the coffee place she frequents, and she tore off the beard of the mall Santa.

The last part was because he skipped bail and Emma was chasing him. It was a whole, long ordeal and he ran pretty fast for someone with a bag of sand strapped to his belly. Still, it felt pretty damn satisfying when she caught him. Santa always seemed like a creep, regardless. Even when she was seven, she was suspicious of some old guy sneaking up on kids while they were sleeping.

Granted, she stopped believing in Santa when she was five - well ahead of the normal curve - but the point still stood.

Mary Margaret, her best friend, doesn't have this problem. Mary Margaret and her husband David love Christmas. Their loft is covered in tinsel, she can't seem to escape a rendition of White Christmas no matter how hard she tries, and the both of them have been wearing Santa hats for the last eleven days she's seen them.

(It's only a day until Christmas. They explained the twelve days of Christmas joke to her every day, but all it does is make Emma more nauseated at the thought. Every time.)

So, it's only because Emma is the best friend ever (she owes Mary Margaret a favor) that she ends up helping Mary Margaret wrap presents for David.

It's really trying her patience with being the best friend ever, to be quite honest. Especially because the Christmas spirit can't just affect her friend with the music and the food and the terrible choice in hatwear - it has to affect her policy of romantic interventionism. When she starts feeling like giving back, she tries to set Emma up on a series of blind dates to ring in the New Year. Much like a foreign invader of land, Mary Margaret has to invade her goddamn love life.

(The first year, she went along with it just to please her and met the guy. That was Walsh. It was great for a few weeks, until she found out he was obsessed with monkeys. He had two of them. They threw things. It was hell.)

This year, Mary Margaret promises it'll be different.

"You'll really like this guy, I swear," Mary Margaret promises her when she's wrapping present number three to Emma's present number one. "he's been friends with David for _years_. No weird habits. No pets. I honestly think you two would be really compati-"

Emma rolls her eyes. "Let me guess - we'll meet and fall madly in love while the soundtrack of Love Actually plays in the background?"

Mary Margaret raises her eyebrows. "I wasn't thinking the last part. The question is, why were you?"

Emma considers that and frowns, crossing her arms a little defensively. "I...it seemed in character for you. Anyway, I'm not doing it."

Mary Margaret just looks disappointed. "And why not?"

"I don't have to say the 'W' word, do I?" Emma grumbles, trying to make the ends of a bow curly with a pair of scissors. It's not going well for her. "Besides, I don't need to be with someone, Mary Margaret. I'm happy just by myself."

"I'm not saying that you need a romantic partner to be happy, Emma," Mary Margaret sighs in exasperation. "I'm just saying that maybe you need to let your walls down and let yourself take the chance to explore something."

"Walls are necessary, without them you just have random people walking into your house."

"You don't have to extend the metaphor that far."

"I don't need a blind date, Mary Margaret," Emma huffs, nearly nicking her fingers with the scissors. She winces. "Relationships suck. Maybe you hit the jackpot with David, but I'm not counting on it for me. Give up, already."

"You're a cynic, Emma Swan," Mary Margaret hums, perfectly folding the corners of the wrapping paper. "one day, we'll change that. It's hard to stay cynical about everything, especially at this time of the year."

"Oh, trust me," Emma grumbles, looking down at the rumpled mess in front of her that's supposed to be the festive red and green wrapping paper covering David's gift. The bow on it sags, sadly. "this time of the year, it's even easier."

"Speaking of, you should come to the loft on Christmas," Mary Margaret adds with a hopeful smile. "it'll just be me and David. We'd love to have you over."

Been there, done that.

It wasn't that she didn't love the couple - as much as the Christmas excessiveness makes her want to pull her hair out - she does. It's just that when she went to their place for Christmas last year (and the year before that, and the year before that), no matter how welcoming they were she still felt out of place. Like an abandoned puppy on the side of the road that people feel sorry for, or something.

Christmas is for them. It's not for her.

"I have…" Emma searches for the right word. One that really means nothing while not telling Mary Margaret that it is _actually_ nothing. "plans."

"Plans," Mary Margaret repeats, dubiously.

"Yup, plans. All day plans, in fact. They actually start early, right about…" Emma looks down at a watch she doesn't have. "now. Merry Christmas!"

She's out of the loft before Mary Margaret can get out another word.

-/-

Emma's plans consist of consuming all of the candy she bought on sale while watching shitty romantic comedies. If there's one good part about Christmas, it's that candy is dirt cheap.

(And Emma gets some sort of pleasure from the stupid movies, as much as she doesn't want to admit it. She hates the holiday, but that doesn't mean that she can't look at this and long for whatever magic seems to befall some people this time of year - that she's never had - just a little bit. Maybe that's why going to David and Mary Margaret's makes her so uncomfortable on Christmas. It's weirder in real life than it is with cheesy movies.)

It's not her fault that Netflix has Love Actually. It is her fault that she watches it on Christmas Eve, like a goddamn stereotype. Emma is in the privacy of her own home, though, so really who can judge her?

As if on queue, the doorbell rings.

Emma groans.

She pauses the movie and opens the door, "Mary Margaret, I swear to God, I told you-"

It's not Mary Margaret.

Instead it's her neighbor. Ridiculously attractive neighbor, as she's been calling him in her head every time she sees him in the hallway. It's easier than learning his name, to be fair. He's holding a box, looking a little - understandably - confused.

"I'm afraid you must have thought I was the wrong person," he says, ears going pink. It's the first time she's heard his voice and she can't tell if his accent is Irish or English. It's a weird thing to be indecisive about, but…

"Right. Yeah. Sorry," Emma amends, shifting her weight a little uncomfortably. "Can I help you?"

"I think this is yours," he replies, holding up the box a little higher. The long sleeve flannel shirt he's wearing rides up his arm and - nope, she doesn't notice. She is instead focusing very much on the lettering on the black and blue tape around the box.

(Amazon Prime delivers on Christmas Eve. Huh.)

Emma raises her eyebrows and eyes the box, then him, contemplatively.

"I'm actually across the hall," he says, scratching the back of his head. "I suppose that's how they got confused. Are you Emma Swan?"

"That would be me," she sighs, taking the package as he hands it over. "thanks."

"No problem at all," he reassures her with a soft grin. "I'm Killian. Killian Jones. I moved in a few months ago, but I'm afraid I didn't get the chance to say hello. Not that I didn't want to, mind you, but...I'm afraid I didn't think I got the chance to, before."

The corner of Emma's lips quirk, in spite of herself. "I've seen you around, too. Just in the hallway. It's...nice that we're finally getting the chance to meet each other. Formerly, I guess."

"Yeah," he nods, sincerely. "really nice. Beautiful, actually."

She hears something and turns around to face the inside of her apartment again with a frown. Love Actually is still playing in the background.

(The end of it, though, so the Prime Minister's Love Theme is playing. She must have not paused it correctly, in her haste to get to the door and prove Mary Margaret wrong about something or another.)

(Irony. Fuck her life.)

Ridiculously attractive neighbor, Killian, is smiling at her and she wouldn't be surprised if he starts leaning against the doorframe and smoldering. That's how bad things are getting right now. The worst part is that she - funnily enough - is a little affected by her ridiculously attractive goddamn neighbor. And if the way he's looking at her (not in a leering way, just in a way that makes her feel a little weak, admittedly) she isn't the only one with these feelings.

 _Feelings._ Just the word is enough to make her shudder internally.

This is the sort of shit that Mary Margaret would point to - as predictable and formulaic as a Lifetime movie - to prove that there would be One Big Event And/Or Guy or Girl to turn Emma from the Grinch to Cindy Loo.

And she isn't buying it.

No thank you, Christmas spirit. You can still go fuck yourself.

"Thanks for dropping this off," Emma replies quickly, absentmindedly tossing it inside her apartment.

He winces. "I heard, er, the box rattle. Is it alright?"

It was actually a new plateware set. She's screwed, but it was cheap anyway. "Oh, it's nothing. Don't worry about it. Merry Christmas!"

Emma practicably slams the door in his disappointed face.

When she gets back to the movie, the sequence of reunions at the airport is showing. People hugging each other, kissing each other, looking like the other person was exactly what they wanted for Christmas.

Well, her heart isn't warming. Mariah Carey doesn't know what the hell she's talking about.

Emma presses the off button of the TV a little too vehemently.

(And yeah, the plateware is completely shattered inside the box. Fantastic.)

-/-

Emma goes out to get milk the next morning. And by morning, she means an hour away from noon because it's a holiday - whether or not she hates it - and that involves her getting more sleep. Under ordinary circumstances, she wouldn't be leaving her house on Christmas Day, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

So it's really just her luck when she gets locked out of her own apartment thanks to her own stupid, sleep-addled, brain.

Christmas is really kicking her ass, this year. Her childhood suspicions of Santa Claus being an unfeeling asshole are officially confirmed. Emma slumps against the opposite wall with a frustrated groan. She isn't sure whether or not she wants to cry or scream. The keys are inside, the super is out all day, and she won't be able to get into her apartment until around 6 or 7 because of that.

Christmas is - really and truly - the worst holiday in the history of all holidays.

The door next to her opens.

"You need help, lass?"

It's ridiculously good looking neighbor, again. The guy whose face she slammed her door in. Fabulous.

"Locked myself out," she replies passively, as if this is a simple fact of life instead of the source of her current frustration. Emma is weighing the pros and cons of knocking her own door down. So far, the pros are winning.

He pads out of his apartment and into the hallway in nothing but his socks, flannel pajama bottoms, and a faded band t-shirt.

(It's really weird that this look works as well for him as it does. Her head thumps against the wall in exasperation of her own thought. _She needs to stop._ )

"I don't think the super is going to be home until nightfall," he says, looking down at her. "you can come inside my apartment and wait for him, if you'd like."

"I can't impose like that," she replies, quickly. Guy - Killian - probably has family to get to. Gifts to wrap. The whole nine yards going on. That's what's common, anyway. That's also probably why she's going to be spending the entirety of Christmas in this hallway. "I'll be fine. Really."

"Nonsense," Killian insists, offering a hand (the only hand he has - she didn't notice that earlier, not that it changes anything one way or another) for her to lift herself off of the floor with. "come in. You're not imposing at all."

He says that, but when she comes in she can tell he's cooking. Emma winces. Sorry weird blonde neighbor ruined Christmas forever, Killian's family!

There's an awkward silence between the two of them for a minute, with him in the kitchen and her sitting uncomfortably on the couch he gestured her towards.

"I'm sorry," she says, finally. "I wasn't...at my best last night. I shouldn't have acted the way I did."

Killian shakes his head with a grin. "No worries, Swan. I think the holiday season gets to all of us, in a way... Besides, you're in no way obligated to keep your neighbor entertained."

"And you're in no way obligated to invite the asshole from across the hall into your apartment on Christmas," she counters, leaning over the back of the couch to look at him. "I'm sure it's only a matter of time before your family comes bounding through the door and ask who the strangle blonde woman on the couch is."

"...no family, actually," he corrects, tone lighter than he must actually feel. "and I am obliged. Can't leave a neighbor out in the hallway, _especially_ on Christmas."

Emma frowns, feeling guilty for bringing it up. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he shrugs, bringing two plates of food out to the coffee table. "it was a while ago. I suppose I should ask if you're family is going to be wondering where you've disappeared to."

Emma shakes her head. "No family. Never knew them, anyway."

"Ah," Killian observes, quietly and knowingly. "Christmas alone, then?"

"I was just planning on watching Netflix and ordering Chinese food," she admits.

"Sounds remarkably like my plans," he laughs. "although, clearly our dining plans were different."

Killian gestures to the plates on the table. Emma's brow furrows.

"Why are there two plates?" she asks, eyes flitting between them and Killian.

"Just because you're locked out of your apartment doesn't mean you should starve," he states, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "eat."

"Killian, I can't-"

"Swan, it's Christmas and I can't eat all this myself."

-/-

She stays there all day.

Emma wishes she could find something really wrong with this guy. Maybe he is a shitty tipper at restaurants. Maybe he has a tarantula collection. Maybe he's a Donald Trump supporter. Any number of things that could move him in a category like Walsh, she's keeping an eye out for. If she catches it early, it saves her stress later.

(He tipped the Chinese delivery guy over 20% when they ate dinner later, he has no pets, and when she walks with him to his car to grab his copy of It's A Wonderful Life, she spots a Bernie Sanders bumper sticker. So far, so good. _Damn it._ )

It's when they're eating said Chinese food - honoring of _her_ tradition - and watching said movie that they find something else to bond over.

"My friends are really into Christmas, right," Emma begins conversationally, tucked into his couch. He's only a few inches from her, splayed out comfortably on the right side of it. "especially my friend from high school. Every year, she'll try to set me up before New Years and go on and on about how I need to _open up my heart_ or whatever."

Killian snorts. "Believe it or not, love, I had the same thing happen to me. Friend from where I used to work is bloody unbearable about it."

"Must be something about this time of the year," Emma rolls her eyes. "makes those longing feelings flare up."

He stares at her, for a moment, studying her contemplatively. Emma is about to think he won't reply when he finally says: "Must be."

She can't hold back the grin at that, however small it may be. The double meaning of it isn't lost on her, not with the way he's looking at her right now. "And how are these feelings of longing working out for you?"

He hums, his eyes boring into hers. "Right now? Pretty bloody well, I'd say."

"Could it be working out better?" she follows up, leaning closer to him.

"Well…"

They're a hair's-breadth away when she finally closes the distance between them, kissing him firmly. Killian responds immediately, his hand comes up to tangle in her hair and his prosthetic rests on her back. One of Emma's hands snakes into his hair and the other fastens to the collar of his shirt.

She can't hear the movie still playing in the background, all she can hear is the sound of the two of them panting out each other's names between kisses.

Eventually, they have to separate for air.

"That was…" Killian pants, eyes slowly opening to meet hers.

Emma bumps her forehead against his. "Something that I want to happen again."

And it does.

Cliche or not, it works. They work.

(At least Mary Margaret didn't try to set them up. She can have her small victories, here.)

-/-

Emma finally gets into her apartment - apparently the super had a busy Christmas, which was to be expected - and she returns the favor by inviting Killian in.

It's safe to say they spend the rest of that time with their lips attached to each other on her couch. It's not a bad way to spend Christmas, at all. You won't catch her complaining. She doubts he's disappointed.

They don't separate - really separate - until a knock sounds at her door.

"Ugh," Emma groans, leaning upwards and sending Killian up with her. Her back was on the couch, so it's kind of a maneuver to extricate herself from his embrace and into some semblance of an actual sitting position. "I bet those are the overly festive matchmakers themselves."

"Maybe now you can finally get them off of your back," he notes. "I mean, that is unless…"

Emma reaches down to intertwine her fingers with his. "Yeah. I don't think I'll be needing any set-ups any time soon."

He grins and the sight is almost blinding.

She's reluctant to get up and answer the door (the knocking keeps on growing more and more fervent) but she does all the same.

It's exactly who she expected.

"I know you said you had plans on Christmas, but we just wanted to check in." Mary Margaret says, by way of greeting.

"And if you thought we weren't going to give you a gift, you'd be wrong." David finishes, holding up a large gift bag.

Emma gives them both an exaggerated sigh. "Well, come on in."

Her reaction to the man sitting on her couch isn't exactly what she expected.

Mary Margaret's face lights up. "Killian! What are you doing here?"

Killian gives her a meek wave, while Emma looks on in astonishment. "Mary Margaret, David, hello. I, erm, live across the hall."

"We know that," David replies, looking as if it's taking all of his willpower to suppress a snicker. "I guess the question is how you ended up here."

"Emma got locked out of her apartment," he explains hastily. "bad form to leave her out there. I let her stay over at mine for a bit and-"

"Wait," Mary Margaret interrupts, a grin lighting up on her face. "Emma was at your place? All day?"

"Okay, but how do you guys know each other?" Emma asks, derailing that line of thought.

David shrugs. "Killian and I are friends. Have been for a few years."

"Aye," Killian adds. "seen me through my ups and downs, David has."

Emma sighs, sitting on the couch beside Killian. "And let me guess…"

"You two were going to be each other's blind date," David says, a little too excitedly. "that is, if either of you actually caved."

Mary Margaret beams so widely Emma doesn't know how her face isn't splitting. "I see now that wasn't even necessary."

"What makes you say that?" Emma replies defensively. "Maybe we were just hanging out. Like neighbors. Platonically. You don't know any better."

Mary Margaret shakes her head, looking amused. "Killian, honey, you have lipstick all over your face. And a little on your beard."

Killian's hand goes up to cover his mouth. "Fair enough."

Emma narrows her eyes.

Mary Margaret and David literally high five in front of her.

"Fine, you win," she grumbles, crossing her arms.

"Didn't even have to do a thing," Mary Margaret replies, gilb as can be. "now you really can't deny I know what I'm talking about."

"I'll remember that when I'm thinking about monkey guy."

"Once, David set me up with a woman I was legitimately convinced was a psychopath," Killian adds.

"Okay, I didn't know Zelena was that bad when I met her," David defends placatingly. "Now, I understand that I was mistaken."

"She almost drowned me, mate. That isn't a bad first date. That's a felony!"

"What matters is the here and now," Mary Margaret interrupts, raising her hands in front of her. "where David and I are completely right when we put our heads together and pull of the best Christmas gift in the history of Christmas gifts."

Killian snakes his arm around Emma with an exaggerated sigh, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Are you happy with your gift, Swan?"

"Eh," Emma pretends to shrug noncommittally. "had worse. You?"

He laughs.

-/-

The next year's Christmas, they're both free of unwanted matchups. Granted, both Mary Margaret and David practically drag them to Christmas at their place, but it's easier when you're not suffering alone.

(Emma will never like Christmas music, but she's learned to love the way Killian's face lights up when he opens his damn gift.)

(And yeah, Mary Margaret and David did pretty well with their gifts to them the previous year.)


End file.
